Fifth Journey Day 109: The Hand That Did Not Finish

Date: August 25, 2025
Location: Byblos, Lebanon

I arrived in Byblos this morning, and the bus dropped me off near the port. The air smelled salty and dusty, like the coast. As I walked toward the harbor ruins, I noticed how the stone seemed to hold not just sunlight but a memory of warmth, as though it had been breathing through centuries. The gulls circled around, their cries mixing with the sound of voices from far away.

I spent some time exploring the ruins. The stones were uneven. Some were shiny, while others were broken and rough. I put my hand on one block. It was rough and a little cold, and shadows stretched out from it. It was a simple gesture, but it made me feel connected to the place—like my skin was touching something that had weathered storms, rulers, and people leaving. The sea beyond was a calm blue, and boats moved in and out without hurry.

For a while, I sat on a low wall with my sketchbook on my lap. I didn't finish a drawing. Instead, I traced lines that were cut in half, stopped at edges, and restarted elsewhere. It reflected how I felt when I arrived at a place, not to finish anything, but to enter it slowly, in pieces. There is a kind of gentleness in not finishing things.

The heat got stronger by early afternoon, and I found myself slowing down even more. Even the air felt calm, like the ruins themselves were asking for silence instead of being interpreted. I left with only a few faint lines on paper, but my mind felt full of impressions—like the texture of stone, the smell of the sea, and the feeling of history in the air.

What remains tonight is the pause itself, the way arrival can be less about movement and more about standing still, letting the world seep in.